


Let's Not Talk About It, Okay?

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, BDSM, Bottom Harry, Bottom!Harry, Dom Louis, Dom/sub, Drabble, Drag Queen Harry, Drag Queen!Harry, Drugs, Fluff, Freeform, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, Male Escort!Louis, Partying, Prostitute Louis, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Sex, Sub Harry, Top Louis, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform, top!Louis
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2422574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was perfectly fine being on his own, hating his job, cuddling his bottle of vodka at night.<br/>That is until the idiot, Louis Tomlinson explodes in his life and it all kind of goes to shit in a good/bad way.<br/>or<br/>Harry is a semi-functioning alcoholic drag-queen, and Louis is a high class BDSM male escort.<br/>shit happens. </p><p> <br/>also, random appearances by youtubers because why the fuck not</p><p> <br/>Loosely based on the stellar memoir "I Am not Myself These Days" by Josh Kilmer-Purcell</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Not Talk About It, Okay?

I’m not sure when I realized I was in love with Louis Tomlinson. It just kind of happened slowly. It wasn’t a _conscious_ decision. It was probably in the grand mix of everything, in one of our sporadic nights going from gross club to gross club, or maybe it was in the quiet, gentle mornings where he would drink his tea while he read the New York Times and I would sip orange juice whilst scanning the funnies. It just sort of became a thing, I guess. 

But what’s funny about love is as soon as it starts, it usually comes tumbling down rather quickly. **Violently**. _Tragically_. Shockingly. Leaving you breathless and unsure of anything and everything. 

Ours is a love story that wasn’t meant to last a lifetime, _no_. But it was one that I personally would never, ever, give up or throw away. 

Obviously, I’m sounding extremely vague and pretentious so let’s just rewind shall we? No more crypticness. Is that a word? Sounds like a word. Let’s call it a word. _Annnnnywhoooo_ , let’s rewind, ten months, three days, and three hours ago. 

New Year’s eve. God dammnit. How fucking cliché.  

*** 

“Yes, yes Liam, I’ll have the edits first thing tomorrow. Right on your desk.” I lie, the edits wont be there until next week, we _both_ know that. But I like to give a false sense of hope. It’s kind of what my life runs on. “I’ll even leave a handwritten note, telling you to have a good day and how undeniably delicious you look in those charcoal trousers.” 

Liam rolls his eyes at me, only because he wants to throw me out of the glass window, but he has to be viewed as ‘professional’ or something along those lines. I’d given up on that _years_ ago, but nonetheless. “That won’t be necessary Harry, just have the final edits on my desk tomorrow and I’ll try to not to terminate your employment status next quarter. Alright?” 

“What a gentlemen.” I say with a wink, wiggling my eyebrow. 

“God damn, why do I still work here? Try not to get _too_ plastered tonight, I don’t want to have to bail you out of jail again.” He says as he leaves my office. 

Working for a small independent design firm makes life quite easy. Of course I’m constantly up to my ears in work for stupid ‘three day cleanse’ companies, or some vegan coffee shop run by artistic hipsters, but it’s a _mock_ creative environment. I say mock because it’s really has nothing to do with creativity. It becomes a repetitive thing. Everyone wants a logo along the same lines when dealing with stupid independent, pretentious business. ‘ _Simple_ but not **boring** , _minimalistic_ but not **empty** , _black and white_ but not **dull** ’. That type of shit. It’s a job that doesn’t take quite long, really only an hour if I really wanna clock the shit out. The best part is even though it’s not, it’s _supposed to be_ a creative environment. I can feign having a ‘creativity block’ and get out of deadlines for a day. It’s all quite great really. Also having a boss that can’t fire you is quite a pleasure as well.

Liam likes to play tough, be he can’t exactly do much to me. Being childhood friends does that to you, really. It likes a safety net. He doesn’t fire me, and I don’t bring up the fact that he used to get off to pictures of my father when we were in grade nine. It’s an unspoken bond.

***

I sit on the edge of my tub, waiting for the steaming hot water to fill the depth of it up. I swish my fingers in as I take a sip of my third…or was it fourth vodka soda. It’s all a part of my process. My drag process. I’ve got it down to an exact science _. Really._  

1: Get home from work and take a shot of tequila, followed by my first vodka soda. 

2: Strip of my work clothes which are filled with the stink of the city and the smell of regret of my workplace. Once I’m down to my underwear I slide on my silk kimono that was bought for me by one of my _several_ mistakes I call boyfriends from China Town. 

3: By then I’m done with my first drink and I’m beginning to not totally hate my life completely. So obviously I need to make my second one and start running my bath, at the hottest temperature possible. It has to be that way with drag so all of the follicles on my body open. I have to shave my entire body completely smooth. I’m not nearly muscle-y enough to pull of bearded drag like Ed or Nick. So fish is truly my only option. Plus it’s fun being gorgeous. 

4: Once I’ve soaked in the bath for a good fifteen minutes I begin to shave. Once with the grain, once against, and once more with. Razor bumps do not dare come towards my body. They’ve been trained to be very, very afraid. 

Now I’m as hairless at a naked mole rat and I’m ready to begin the painting process. 

I’m like Picasso but pretty. 

5: Foundation, contour, highlight, covering brows, eye shadow, eye liner, lashes, lipstick, blush, lip gloss. It’s quite the process. I’ve got it down to two and a half hours. Also, I’m on my fifth drink about now so it’s necessary for me to eat something so I’m not completely messy. Usually it’s whatever leftovers are in my fridge that smell least offensive. Tonight it’s thai food. While eating cold pad thai I slide on my wig cap and decide what hair I will wear for the night. Two wigs pinned together are the usual look, three if I’m feeling fancy, four if I’m trying to pay my rent. 

It’s new years eve, got to look nice. Tonight’s the night that everyone travels to the city in seek of new beginnings or some shit. And once they realize they can’t get that they stumble into the bar where I perform. Big Sally’s on 5th and Lincoln. 

Big Sally is quite the lady actually, She used to be a republican congressmen. Then she got caught sleeping with a prostitute that just _happened_ to be a tranny and, well, now she owns a shitty drag bar in Manhattan. Dream big kids, this could happen to you too. But Sally is lovely, she’s like a mother to us all, takes us poor drag queens in one by one and makes us not so poor and a lot more drunk. 

We love her for that. 

It’s 10:30 PM and I’m finally finished putting myself together. My hair is bright blonde, platinum and lays against my fake breasts stuffed inside my skin tight red latex dress, lace thigh highs cover my legs and my six and a half inch platforms finish off my look. I’m a prosthetic dream at 6’6. Of course one of my press on nails have already fallen off, but that’s to be expected in the world of drag. Or shall I say ‘Female Impersonation’ damn pretentious assholes. I do one last glance over in the mirror and decide I’m ready to head out. I stumble down the stairs of my mediocre, overpriced brownstone townhouse and head toward the subway. 

Riding the subway in drag is actually quite entertaining. Well, riding the subway in general is quite entertaining. But when your hair is a foot high and your dress leaves little to the imagination you get quite a few stares, followed by the disappointment and anger by confused straight men when they realize you’re a dude. I’ve learned the best way to handle it is to wink and blow a kiss. That way we both know how ridiculous we are, it helps soothe the burn and shock a bit.

***

At 11:15 I walk into the back entrance of the club, Medical Molly and Prèmê Fëtūs are already doing lines off of strippers asses in the green room when I arrive. Drugs are a freebie when you perform, as well as drinks and grabbing as many penises as you'd like. I don’t dabble into the drugs as much as I used to, but that’s another story. 

“Well damn, look who finally showed up.” Niall, one of the strippers says as he readjusts his bulge in his thong, “I thought Molly over here was gonna have to host tonight’s show for you.”

I flip my hair and float (as well as I can being incredibly tipsy) over to him, licking his face like a cat, “Baby, perfection takes time. Plus I have to look good for you, _daddy_.” I mew as I grab at his ass. 

He rolls his eyes, “Well hurry up because we have a house full of obnoxious gay men ready to see you.”

It’s quite common for straight guys like Niall to be strippers in a gay bar or club. Gay men just pay better, they enjoy the finer things in life. And Niall is, quite a fine thing. Especially when he’s high and let’s me suck that _huge_ irish dick of his. But again, that’s another story.

“Fine, fine. I guess now is as good as a time as any.” I sigh before taking a swig from the bottle of Jack Daniel’s resting on the vanity. “Let’s go put on a show.”

***

“Now ladies, gentlemen, and faggots all around let’s give a Big Sally’s welcome as we bring out our host for the evening, you know her, you love her, and you’ve _probably_ fucked her, Miss Marie Antwinkette!” The announcer speaks in a booming voice.

The crowd roars and catcalls as I strut on stage, it’s a feeling you don’t really ever get over. I used to think I’d hear it in big concert halls, singing the great musical classics. _Oh_ , did I forget to mention I’m classically trained in opera? Well, there’s that. But anyway, turns out it’s kind of a hard career to get into. No one really wants to listen to a tall, lanky, super gay lyric baritone. _Who knew_ , right? So drag kind of became the next best thing.

“I have one thing to say.” I say as I turn my back to the audience, bending over and showing my best _ass_ est, “Let them eat mother fucking cake.” 

The crowd loses their mind as Rihanna’s _totally_ underrated jam (and my theme song) Birthday Cake turns on. I start to spin on the pole as the strippers come on stage. I do my usual routine, grabbing dicks, kissing abs, licking ass cheeks, and taking drinks from strangers. It’s a riot, really. I’m on my particularly good game tonight, as well. Must have been the New Year’s Eve air. 

I finish my opening and start introducing the lineup for the night, and head back into the green room, looking for a few quick moments to relax. Which I usually receive. But not tonight, however. 

I walk into the room, and Big Sally is pacing back and forth, losing her god damn mind. “Oh, Marie. Thank god. Okay I need a favor, darling.” 

She thinks the darling sweetens me up. 

It does. 

“What do you want Charles?” I call her by her boy name when she needs something. 

“Ignoring that comment because I’m in your debt right now,” She sputters as she fixes her eyelash in the mirror, for a big girl she really is quite pretty, “There’s a customer here who wants to meet with you.”

I’m taken aback and begin to laugh, “This is not _Al’s Boobium Emporium_. We don’t do private shows here.”

“No, not like that.” She looks confused herself. “He’s just spending a lot of money on drinks for the strippers and the queens, and he’s been really polite to the entire staff. But the second you came on stage he just… _anyway_ , he just wants to sit down and have a drink with you.”

I cock a drawn-on eyebrow.

“I know I was confused too.” She readjusts her extremely large breasts and sighs, “You think a man of his status would want a real woman, such as I” she winks, “Just please go sit with him, we need business like this. And I know you never turn down a free drink.”

I shake my head, she’s right. “You’re right.” I glance in the mirror, wiping any makeup that has drifted while on stage, “Fine, I’ll sit with the poor guy. But you owe me, **big time**. What table is he at?”

“Three.”

***

I cross the bar and make my way to table three, the man is dressed in a tailored navy suit, with golden cuff links. I can’t see his face because he’s holding a newspaper. Weird, but okay. His hands are small, but firm. 

It’s been a few moments and he still hasn’t acknowledge me so I clear my throat as dainty as possible. 

“Ah.” He says as he folds his newspaper away, noticing my presence. His voice is high and slightly raspy, “there you are, love.” He puts his newspaper beside him and smiles brightly. “Sit down.”

I follow his request.

Okay, he’s not horrible looking. He’s actually quite handsome, really. His hair is slightly long and brown, slicked back on the sides very professionally. His skin is golden and his eyes are a deep blue that crinkle when he smiles. He has that whole adorable but I will fuck you so hard you’ll be screaming thing going on.

“You’re quite something on stage, you know that?” He says, his accent thick and endearing. He’s english. Hot.

I feign gratitude and try to look coy, “Oh really? Thank you. I just try to do my best.” 

“Now, now my dear, no need to be modest. Look at you, you’re _gorgeous_.” 

“Well, compliments will get you everywhere.” I say as I play with my hair, “So, are you enjoying you’re night?”

He nods, “Very much so.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here, we get a fair share of regulars.”

He shakes his head and a strand of hair falls, “No, this is my first time here. I just got off work and decided to relax a bit.”

I nod slowly. 

It’s bit awkward. 

I’m honestly quite the conversationalist, but I’m a loss for words here. Which never happens. He just keeps looking at me with such a spark behind his eyes, a spark I haven’t seen in my own since I was sixteen. 

“I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but why exactly did you call me over here?” I boldly ask.

He laughs a bit, “To buy you a drink of course, and get to know you. Someone as beautiful as you needs to be known.”

“Cheesy.” I smile, “I like it.”

He raises his eyebrows, “Good. Now what would you like to drink?”

“Whatever you’re having is fine. I’m not picky.” I smile once more, or did I just never stop?

He stands, “I’ll be right back.”

As he heads to the bar I take out the make-up compact stuffed in my bra to make sure there is no lipstick on my teeth and my wig hadn’t tilted. Thank god for wig glue and prayer. I quickly stuff my compact but to it’s spot as he hands me the drink. 

I sip.

Water.

It’s fucking water.

“This is water.”

“I know.”

“You gave me _water._ ”

“With a twist of lime, actually.”

“Well, excuse the fuck out of me.”

He sends a hard laugh out and his eyes do the crinkle thing again. “You’re excused.”

“Why would you give me water?”

He shrugs, “Because you said you wanted whatever I was drinking. This is what I’m drinking.”

I furrow my brows and cross my arms, “You’re at a drag bar at 2 AM, trying to ‘ _relax_ ’” I say with air quotes, “and you’re drinking water?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Why not?”

He laughs again, and pulls a circular chip with golden letters from his jacket pocket “three years sober.”

“Dear god, you’re not here to try to cleanse me or something, are you? Did my mother send you? Where is she? There must be a camera somewhere.”

“No no, none of that.” He reaches for my hand, “What would you like to drink, dear?”

I jump but relax into his touch, “Anything that’s not water.”

He nods and half smiles as he gets up from the booth once again.

“You better not come back with a soda either!” I yell after him.

Conversation goes well after he gets a few cosmos in me. He just becomes sweeter and sweeter and more and more charming and for a moment I’m not a drag queen in a shitty bar, or a semi-functioning alcoholic who hates his job, or an overgrown child prodigy who never reached his potential. I’m a seventeen year old on my first date. Are we on a date? Oh god, I’m pathetic.

And the room is spinning. 

And now it’s black. 

Goodnight. 

***

It’s the next morning, and it’s really fucking bright, and smells like bacon. I can’t be in my own place. No way. Unless Princess Diana my evil cat suddenly learned how to cook and the building across my street was torn down. I blink my eyes open softly, soft white sheets caress my body. Which is a stupid way to describe sheets wrapped around you but when they’re this soft and comfortable it’s the only way to describe it accurately. I turn my head toward the light, floor to ceiling windows with a balcony, and hello, we are very high up. I can see the whole of New York City from here. 

What the hell happened last night?

I mean, I’m not stranger to waking up in a foreign bed, but never this nice. 

“Well look who’s alive!” a voice calls from the doorway, and, okay, it’s that guy from the club. He’s just as cute as I can _almost_ remember. He’s short, pocket sized, with messy brown hair and a smile that lights up the room even more than it already is. He’s wearing long sweat pants that rest against his bare feet, and a wife beater that lets his tattoos peak through. 

“Yes, barely.” I sit up and wipe my eyes, and no make-up is on my hand. That’s strange. I glance over my body, I’m wearing a matching blue pajama set. What am I, Bill Gates? “Did we fuck?”

He (I say he because I can’t remember his name) laughs, “No, no hanky panky. You just got a bit drunk and you were too busy singing an italian aria to tell me where you lived. So I just brought you to my place and let you crash here. I slept in the guest bedroom.

Guest bedroom? 

God damn. 

“My clothes?”

“Being dry cleaned. I hope you don’t mind. You got a bit sick last night, I took them to my personal cleaner this morning.”

I run my fingers through my brown hair, my wig is sitting on the counter next to me. “Are these your clothes?”

He shakes his head, “I keep some clothes for guests, just in case. After you showered I gave you them. You can keep them if you’d like. There’s also some clothes in the closet if you need them since you probably don't want to go home in drag.”

“Right, home.” I nod.

Fuck.

Work.

“Damnit. Damnit. Damnit. I totally forgot. I have work today. God damnit. What time is it? God, the subways are gonna be insane.” I jump out of bed. “Liam’s gonna kill me, I don’t even have the prints done. _Fuck_.”

The man steps towards me and puts his hands on my shoulders, “Hey, hey, it’ll be okay, alright?” and for almost a second I believe him. “I’ll have my driver take you to work. There’s a shower right through that door, clean yourself up and I’ll give him a call.”

I nod again. “Thank you so much…”

“Louis, Louis Tomlinson.”

“Har-“

“Harry Styles, I know, you told me last night.”

I nod. God damn I must of been fucked up.

***

“…And then he got his fucking driver to take me to work. In. A. God. Damn. Mercedes.” I clap on every syllable before taking a sip of my pinot griot. “It was so bizarre.” 

“I’m sorry,” Zoë says as she takes a bite out of her pita chip, “You’re not getting married to him right now _why_?”

“Because he’s fucking nuts!” I exclaim, “Who the fuck buys you drink after drink, let’s you stay at their gorgeous penthouse apartment, borrow their clothes, dry cleans your dresses, and gets you a ride to work…And doesn’t even _fuck_ you?” 

“Maybe he’s just a nice person?”

“Or…” I take a large gulp of my wine, “He’s a sociopath.” I add, matter-of-factly.

Yeah, he must be a sociopath. 

That’s it. 

“You’re whole ‘assuming the worst out of people’ is starting to not be so endearing, babe.” She coos as she rubs my thigh. “I say this because I love you. Maybe a relationship will be good for you?”

“Zoë.” I give her a look.

She puts her hands up in defense, “What! I’m just saying he doesn’t seem like a terrible person, and you haven’t exactly had a history of amazing men in your life.”

“ _Fuck you_.” I shoot, rolling my eyes.

She grabs the half-empty (oh shit, I should say full right? That means you're like, a good person, or some shit, doesn’t it?) bottle of wine and fills her glass. “It’s true hun, I’m just saying. Maybe you should give it a shot.”

“I’m off relationships. Especially with sociopaths like him.”

“Whatever he is, he sure is rich. What does he do for a living?”

I shrug, “No clue. I goggled his name, nothing. Not a Facebook, twitter, instagram, not even god damn linkedin account. He’s unsearchable. Translation: sociopath.”

“Weird.” She says before taking a sip of wine, “but he’s like totally sugar daddy status. And hot, show me that picture again.”

***

It’s a few days before I hear from Louis again, and things have gone from crazy town to seemingly normal and boring. 

But then Louis bursts in the scene and does exactly what he does best. 

Flips shit up. 

“So, nothing from mystery sex goddess?” Mamrie says while taking a sip from her pumpkin spice latte. 

Damn winter clichés. 

I shake my head, “Nope.” I sigh as I sit down in the crowded Starbucks, “And I’m ready to be done talking about him.” I mummer before sipping my americano. 

Grace rolls her eyes, “Excuse us for being interested. Random zillionaires are much more interesting than the news at the firm.” 

“Oh my gosh, you’re so right.” Hannah adds, “Hey Dan, did you hear, there’s a new vegan bakery down the block!”

“Oh, really, Phill? Is it the one off of 35th street?” Mamrie adds, with a fake man voice.

Grace shakes her head, “No, he means the new _new_ one on 14th!” 

“Ah.” Hannah nods, “Y’know Shane, we can never have too many vegan bakeries.” 

“Never.” The two girls add with a cheers.

I slap my hand on my forehead, “Why do I talk to you three?”

Hannah rests her hand on my shoulder, “Because dude, it’s either us or lose your mind in the office.”

“Oh yeah.” I say before taking a gulp of coffee. “I want to kill myself.”

“Well, that wont be necessary, my angel.” A familiar voice says behind me, “the world would miss you _far_ too much.” 

I turn around.

And god damnit. 

Louis fucking Tomlinson.

“How did you find me here?” I ask with a cocked eyebrow.

He smiles and pulls up a chair, “What? A man can’t go to Starbucks?” 

“The city is huge, there’s probably five thousand within a square mile.”

Grace leans forward and whispers loudly, “Is this that bar guy?”

Louis smiles even brighter, “You’ve been talking about me? Good things I hope.”

“Just that you’re a sociopath.” I say, not looking at him.

He feigns heartbreak and sighs, “Just as long as I’m _your_ sociopath.” He looks at the girls at the table, “Do you ladies mind giving us a minute?”

“Not at all! We’ll meet you back at the office.” Mamrie answers while grabbing her purse. “Have fun.”

“I’m gonna murder you all.” I exclaim as they leave the crowded coffee shop. 

Louis moves the the chair in front of me and I roll my eyes, “So, how have you been?”

“How did you find me here?” I repeat.

“I’m fine too, thanks for asking.” He jokes as he fixes the red cufflink on his sleeve. “Sounds like you missed me.”

“ _Hardly_.”

“You’re mean when you’re sober.”

I smile slightly, “It’s my trademark.”

“I thought your trademark was ‘let them eat cake’ followed by a few minutes of shaking that cute ass of yours.” He says cupping my hand.

I don’t pull away immediately because his hands are soft and warm and it’s very cold in this Starbucks. 

“So, when do I get to take you out on a date?”

“You don’t.”

Louis cocks his head, “And why is that?”

“I don’t date.”

Louis nods, “Ah, I see.” He fixes his oxblood tie, “Well, how about you come over and I cook you a dinner and we watch a movie. Which is totally _not_ a date.”

“Why should I agree to that?”

“Because it’s a free meal that isn’t take out that is also accompanied by an _extremely_ handsome man, such as myself.”

“I do enjoy free meals.”

He barks a laugh out, “You’re cute.”

“Well, you sure are bold.”

He shrugs, “Why deny what’s in front of me? If I enjoy it, I’m gonna let it know.”

“So I’m an ‘it.’”

That earned an eye roll on his part, “No darling, you’re an extremely sexy and beautiful man that I plan to woo into loving me.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe so.”

Silence.

“So, tomorrow? Eight o’ clock?”

“Fine.”

“Good, I’ll have my driver pick you up.”

***

“Okay, so the fake Burberry scarf or the fake Gucci one?” I say digging through my absolute mess of a closet, which is a direct metaphor to my life, I sigh, realizing my infinity for cheap designer knock offs.

Zoë rolls her eyes, “For someone who didn’t want to see this guy you’re awfully concerned about looking nice.”

“I am not _concerned_.” 

“Then why have you changed your outfit seven times in the last twenty minutes?”

I throw the wadded up shirt in her face, “Fuck you. Shut up. Burberry or Gucci?”

“Gucci.” She says as she lays back on my beat up twin bed, “Just admit it, you’re excited for this date.”

“It’s not a date, it’s a free meal. I’m being economical.”

“ _Economical_?”

“Exactly.” 

She shakes her head and walks towards me, knotting the thick knit scarf around my neck, “You sound like a romantic comedy.”

“Does that make you my quirky best friend who can’t keep a man?” I say, sliding on my tweed sport coat.

“You’re mean when you’re nervous.”

“I’m always mean.”

She nods, “True.”

***

The elevator door opens directly to his apartment. I really got to notice the decor before. It’s very modern, all white, crisp lines and glass everywhere. But, it’s not unwelcoming at the same time. It smells of patchouli and sandalwood and I kind of just want to bathe in it. The city is lit up against the night sky and it’s quite relaxing. I feel like I’m flying above the city that causes me hell. “L-Louis?” 

“Ah, Harry! ‘M in the kitchen, love.” 

I follow his voice and begin to be emerged in the delicious smell radiating from the kitchen. “Dear god, I didn’t know you were an iron chef.” 

Louis smiles brightly like fucking always and brings the wooden spoon he was stirring with up to my lips, cradling the bottom of it so nothing spills, “Try it.”

I sip cautiously. 

God damn.

It’s good. 

Fuck.

“You can say it’s delicious, I wont tell anyone.” He smirks as he goes back to stirring. “You look lovely tonight. Very city chic.” 

I roll my eyes and slip off my coat,  “I always look lovely.”

“Are you not going to compliment me?” He says with a silly turn of his body. “How do I look?”

“You look okay.”

I lied, he looks great, actually. A tight fitting white button clings to his toned chest and arms, tucked into even tighter grey trousers. He’s wearing those fancy slipper loafer type deals that only rich people wear. The ones that probably cost my salary. Oh, did I mention his ass? Well, it’s deliciously plump. I never seen a guy’s ass that nice that wasn’t padded.

“My eyes are up here Harry.” He proclaims playfully, smirking over his shoulder. “The dining room is down the hall, make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

I nod and follow his directions. 

The dining room is quite nice, not to anyone’s surprise really. The long glass table has a dark navy runner along the length of it. Tall cream candles stand in the center of the table. There’s various artworks on the wall, mostly modern french pieces. The kind that looks like either a five year old or a mastermind did. 

“Feel free to play some music, darling.” He calls from the kitchen. 

I walk over to the stereo system which has a record player sitting at the top, I scan over the organized 45s, stopping when I find my favorite Billie Holiday album. Jesus Christ. This man is perfect. 

Fuck.

***

“Hello Mr.Styles, dinner is served.” Louis announces as he sits the two plates down on the table, “For dinner we have a tagliatelle with red provençal pistou with fresh bread made from the delicious french bakery down the block. And the wine is an aged fumé blanc.” 

I sit baffled, “Damn, this looks amazing.” I smile widely as he pours my wine. 

“Good.” He smiles as he sits down across from me, “Well, take a bite, tell me what you think.”

I take a deep breath while spinning my fork in the pasta dish and bring it to my mouth to take a bite, “holy fuck.” I cry out, mouth full. 

Louis barks a laugh and takes a mouthful of pasta. 

“This is probably the best pasta I’ve ever eaten.” I say before shoveling another bite in my mouth, only then realizing how much of an ape I probably look like. 

“You’re beautiful, Harry.”

***

“So, what made you do drag?” Louis asks while smoking a cigarette off the balcony of his apartment. 

I shrug, not quite sure myself, “Well, I came to the city when I was nineteen to try to become an opera singer, and well that went to shit, so one drunken night I stumbled into Big Sally’s and just never left. Here I am ten years later still doing this shit.” My eyes go wide, “Holy fuck I’m almost thirty.”

Louis smiles, before throwing the butt into an ashtray, “Try being thirty three. Not fun at al-“ 

Buzz.

“Sorry, that’s my work phone, I gotta take this. One second.” 

And then he’s inside. 

Who the hell has work calls at 10:00 PM? Maybe he works for a foreign company or some shit. Probably Japan. Holy fuck, he’s probably a Japanese pop star. That explains it, he’s so little and cute and animated. I’m sure they love him there.

“Sorry.” He says as he slides the glass door open and sits in the chair next to me, “I told them not to call me tonight. But, what can you do?” He laughs and leans back in his seat. 

“So, tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“Well mystery man,” I lean forward and pull my mop of hair from my eyes, “What exactly is it you do for a living?” 

“What I do for a living?”

“That was the question, yes.” I smile, “I’ve google you and nothing. You’re unsearchable.

He nods and smiles, “Oh, I’m a private escort.”

What. 

Wait.

What?

“Very funny.” I roll my eyes, “But, really.”

Louis suddenly becomes very serious, “Harry, I’m being honest here. I’m an escort.”

“Like…a _prostitute_?” 

“Like a high class prostitute, I guess.” 

I stand up. “I’m sorry, but, what the actual fuck?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, really.” He says standing up and resting a hand on my hip. “Let me explain, okay?” 

I shove his hand off me, “Don’t touch me. I want to leave.” 

“ _Harry._ ” 

“How could you not fucking tell me?”

He shrugs, “It’s not exactly something you just bring up in random conversation, ‘oh by the way, I’m a BDSM escort.’”

My eyes bug, “Oh good, not only are you an escort, you’re shoving sixteen inch dildos up your ass.” 

“That’s not what it’s like at all, Harry. Please just let me explain.” 

“I feel sick.”

Louis’ eyes are big and apologetic, “Just sit down, let me grab you some water. Just hear me out, and if you don’t want to ever see me after that, I understand.”

***

After a while of silence on the balcony Louis asks me to come inside so we can talk about everything. 

I agree. 

Not sure why I do. Hell, it’s a new year, maybe I’m feeling nice now. Maybe it’s my new thing. Maybe it’s the way his blue eyes sparkle and makes my heart sort of do that disgusting fluttering thing. 

Probably the first option.

_Hopefully_ the first option.

“So, what do you want to know?” He asks. 

I shake my head, “I don’t know. Everything.” I exhale, “Nothing.” 

He rubs his hands together, “Well I know this doesn’t make things easier, but ninety five percent of the time, my clients don’t even touch me.”

“What do you mean?” 

He exhales, “Well, I’m a dominant master when it comes to BDSM. The people who call for my services are looking for people to tell them how disgusting they are, call them pig, hit them, slap them, that sort of thing.”

“Okay.” I say slowly. “I’m not exactly following.” 

I mean, _hell,_ I’m not vanilla in the bedroom but **damn**. 

“My clients are usually ‘straight’ married men who are ‘away’ on business trips. Sad, but hey, it’s a living.” He says with air quotes, “They aren’t looking for sex, or love, or relationships, just someone to answer to the fantasy of being dominated. I throw them around, use some toys on them, tie them up, and usually call it a day.” 

I nod. “How long does like…it last?” 

He sighs, “Depends, really. Sometimes an hour, sometimes two days. It depends how much they pay.” 

I shift in my seat, my face is red and I’m starting to sweat, it’s so fucking uncomfortable. I don’t know what to say or do or feel.

“Don’t worry, nothing you can say will offend me. I’m used to it.” Louis speaks earnestly. 

“How did you…y’know…”

“Start? Yeah, I mean, being a whore wasn’t exactly what I dreamed of being when I grew up. I wanted to be an architect. Went to college, got my masters, and began working at a firm. Then the economy hit, I went from making six figures to working as a barista. My friend told me about escorting.” He sighs, “I had the exact same reaction you had, but after realizing I was on the edge of losing my apartment, I tried it. And, the money was good. And, here I am.”

“Is it safe?” 

He nods, “For the most part. Occasionally I get in a sticky situation, y’know client snorts too much coke and flips out, but for the most part it’s all good.” 

“Coke? I thought you were clean.”

“I am. Party favors are part of the deal.”

I nod. “Okay.”

And then it’s quiet for a bit. 

“What are you thinking, darling?” He asks, reaching over to rub my knee. I let him. 

I shake my head, “I’m not sure.” 

“Are you disgusted with me?” 

“No.” 

He nods, “Okay.”

“Alright.”

“Look.” He reaches for my hands, “I really like you Harry Styles. My work is my work, it’s not who I am, and I know that’s hard to believe right now, but I’ll prove it to you. I do anything to prove it to you. Just please don’t leave.” 

I look at him, his eyes are slightly watery, his mouth is lacking is usual smile. And all I can think is how badly I want to see him smile again. 

So I kiss him.

And then he’s smiling. 

And then I realize I may have just fucked a lot of shit up. But, I’m okay with it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeeyooo, i haven't written in a super mega long time so this is cool. i cringe at my old writing i can't. but this is kind of my new style of writing, it's just kind of like talking and super not professional but it's okay cause its my voice and creative and yeah fuck it all I tried. i really hope you all like it.


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